One of These Nights
by sulphurage
Summary: how i think a night would haf been like for Kenshin during the time when he was still the hitokiri battousai.. ^_^


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Rurouni Kenshin (Based on the OVA)

One of These Nights

His throat went parch dry once he felt his adrenaline rise, sending him into an incredible high. The feeling, the sheer stimulation was a sensation he was used to, his senses becoming even sharper: his moves more precise and powerful, and blade ten folds deadlier. 

Yet all that was just emotion. 

Physically his capabilities were already top-form, flawlessly perfect. Just one sweep was all it took.

All it took to kill.

The crescent moon appeared as the clouds parted, wisps of purple drifting away to shed light on the dusty alleyways of Kyoto. The lights in every household had been extinguished some time ago, and all that left was the sound of cicadas, insects in the grass and on the dirt. 

But soon, soon there was complete silence.

Strides fleet, he ran swiftly along the sides of houses, frowning slightly at the unsettling surroundings. No birds were singing, no sounds heard from the grass, not even the slight rustling of leaves in the light breeze. But his senses were unaffected by the unusual stillness. He could sense human presence nearby. 

It was time.

The unsettled man turned around, his clammy fingers wrapped tightly around his sword. "_Nani_?" his friend asked, wary eyes fixed in the uncertain expression highlighted in the moonlight. Shaking his head once, the assassin motioned for his ally to proceed forward. As a shadow passed over the moon, the man felt himself stiffen in the darkness. 

The problem with him was that he could not trust his instincts. Perhaps it was his imagination, but the man had a suspicion that something would go wrong tonight. Yet it was already too late to back out. Now… now could be the time. 

His hand reached out for his friend, for his fellow companions… However the silence was shattered suddenly, taking his hope along with it. 

He reached the scene, and watched as blades flew mercilessly, blows that it took moments before the wound gashed open, and blood spurted from the torn body. Men only managed anguished sounds from their guts a split second before their body began to tear… Flesh and blood. He was sure they were able to see their own blood, perhaps smell, taste or feel it before his body fell, split wide open. 

Instinct and response blended almost simultaneously. Compact, lithe body bracing, he swung a blow aimed specifically for the neck, hardly bothering to cast a second glance at the old hitokiri who had attempted to kill him. It was a clean cut that had effortlessly decapitated the drunk. 

Daringly stepping into the fight, the battousai wearing the keen amethyst gaze singled out a few men: all dressed alike, wearing the same bands and gi. He facilely ducked a blow, slashed at a man's waist and headed swiftly for his targets before he got splattered with the blood of men he did not know. 

_So tired, _he thought, defending himself against blows before finally finding an opening. Stabbing the man in the stomach, he pulled out his sword from the abdomen's centre, kicking the injured man down. Unintelligible murmurs escaped from those bloodstained, pallid lips, and he stopped to gaze down, casting a look of sympathy. Sprawled on the dirt, with a gaping gash across the chest, the man was praying. 

His heart softened slightly at the sight, and upon seeing the fingers loosen, the eyes shut, he stepped away. Life had to be this way. The weak die and the strong survive. There were countless unwritten rules that they had to obey, willingly or not.

He turned to find himself gazing into the face of a young boy, not older than him. Somehow the striking features seemed to match something hidden away at the back of his mind, something dark and long forgotten. Stunned and taken by surprise, the man stumbled back a few steps, haplessly trying to pull the distance between them farther. 

Yet the light-haired hitokiri advanced fearlessly, his sharp, golden eyes burning, contradicting his cool, set features and his fluid body language. Someone fuelled on by an unshakable belief.

Fear wrapped around his heart like serpents, coiling and tightening until he could hardly breath. He had already suspected something would go wrong… Now the young man here, the killer in front of him, squarely staring into his frightened dark eyes-- he was the key to those nightmares. 

The smell of blood had never been as strong as it was now, and it entered his lungs, coursing through his rigid, shaking body. Death was watching him, awaiting the fall. The hitokori stood still, waiting for him to make a move, defend himself before striking, like a true warrior. 

But the man knew his fate. Everything led down to this. It would end this way. 

A cutting, cold breeze blew, sending strands of crimson against the set face. The man could see he was growing impatient. Finally, wearing a placid, calm expression tinged faintly with confusion, the battousai made the kill.

The weak die.

He must have led a worthless life, he thought as he gave his sword a solid, firm whip, flinging away the excess blood on the blade. 

Many were already lying dead on the dirt, and others had quickly, intelligently, left after finishing their mission. The piercing silence set in again, and he slipped his sword back, lashes fluttering as a weary fatigue weighed down his sloping shoulders.

This night… the smell of blood seemed to be… more pungent. It seemed to grow stronger every time.

Perhaps he could wash it off, make it disappear. 

Himura Kenshin left the mass of residue. 

Yes, it would fade once he got back.

~


End file.
